Spark- A Hunger Games Story
by HungerG94
Summary: Forced to face the Capitol's wrath for her father's blunder, Alana is sent into the Games as means of revenge for the grievances he caused. With her life on the line and fate clashing with twenty-three others, will she have what it takes to make it home, or become another forgotten casualty of the Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello to my loyal readers. I know your waiting for me to update on Open Range. But that story has been put hiatus for now. However, I plan on continuing the story Alpha Ω: Beginning of the End (A&O:BotE) soon.**

**I know that your reading my (and IHeartUCato)'s stories, so, to you quiet observers, review. It encourages me (us) to keep going. Plus I'd like to know your opinions on my writing and the story itself.**

**This is a story that popped up in my head while I was working on Open Range. It has sort of taken on a mind of its own. It may or may not have sequels. **

**I do not own or claim to own anything Hunger Games related- I'm simply borrowing from Ms. Collins.**

**Chapter One**

I sigh as the water cascades down my back, working out the kinks in my tense and sore muscles. I pull back the shower curtain to glance at the small clock on the bathroom counter before leaning forward into the spray.

"How nice. You only left me with forty-five minutes to get ready to go," I mutter a bit sarcastically under my breath. "I am truly grateful."

As I begin to rinse out any remaining shampoo from my hair, my mind decides to wander. Father, having apparently managed to postpone his trip to the Capitol, woke me at four in the morning so I would have an extended training session.

Today, it seemed, was cause for an much more intense regimen. The simulator kept me moving at a breathless pace, dropping low to avoid incoming knives, rolling from the swing of a ax, to outright countering the slash from a sword with my chakrams, embedding one into the robotic dummy's head. From there we moved to target practice, switching between my most comfortable weapons, chakrams, to the smallest of knives and miniature throwing stars. Each time I hit my mark, though from the look on his face, you'd think I'd failed horribly.

We finished with the endurance tests. I started off doing well, but as I swung across the monkey bars, I could feel his eyes on me. I tried not to look, fighting the urge as long as I could, but it became to much. In my distraction, I missed the grab for the final rung. The momentum caused me to let go, ending with me falling from thirteen feet and sprawled out on the mat below.

"_Alana! What in the hell was that!_," My father yelled, storming over to stand above me. I glanced away from him in both irritation and shame.

"_Do not ignore me! Why did you just stop near the end_?," He asked again. My temper gets the best of me, fueling my response.

"_Because I could feel the damn daggers you were throwing at me with your eyes! What is your problem today anyway?_"

In the time it took me to blink, he managed to stoop down to my eye level. His eyes, normally a bright and lively green now were dark, several emotions raging within them. The most recognizable of them was fear. They held me in place, freezing me to my spot and silencing any response I might have given.

"_What do you think my problem is? Or have you forgotten what day it is?_," he said as he moved a hand to hold the bridge of his nose. He apparently caught my flinch at the tone of his voice, for his gaze softened and he reached out to stroke my cheek.

"_I'm sorry sweetie. I'm not trying to take it out on you. It's just that I want you to be prepared._"

"_But maybe last time, it was just a coincidence_," I said weakly, not for a minute believing it to be true. "_Maybe it was chance._"

"_Alana, you know it was never up to chance. Not for this._" His voice was grim, yet sure as he stated this.

But of course he would be. Who wouldn't forget a threat made by the President himself. My father had been a part of the start of a rebellion in the Capitol. Using his status as head gamemaker, he garnered the attention and backing of many well-known and respected members of the Capitol- many already enemies of Snow- to his cause. It is unknown to my father of how they were discovered, but, nevertheless, the President arranged for those involved to be killed during the banquet for the Victor of the 59th Hunger Games, Thadeus Fluxon of District Two. He willingly went along, taking blame for the murders and receiving a reprieve for having done so.

During the madness, my father had been beaten then taken to the President who, in so many words, told my father that he would be spared only for his ability for making unique Game arenas, however, he would pay for his betrayal to the Capitol one way or another.

Afterward, he was banished to reside here in District Three where he met my mother, Jacqueline. I figured when he told me of his ordeal and began prepping and preparing me on my tenth birthday in his secret training center that he was just being paranoid; on my thirteenth birthday, Snow made a visit to our house. Whatever was said between the two left an impression on my father. Training became longer and increased in difficulty.

The next year, I was reaped for the Games. Before I could part from the crowd, my best and only friend, Chloe Coilton, volunteered in my place. The thought of her breaks me of my revelry.

Turning off the water, I step out onto the bath rug and dry myself off with a towel. I pause to wipe the steam from the mirror and briefly stare at my reflection. It's like I have just the right combination of my parents' looks; my mother's small nose and my father's high cheek bones. Their hair and eye colors have mixed giving me my hazel-ish green eyes, my auburn hair.

From the corner of my eye, the clock reads eleven thirty-seven. I toss my wet towel into the dirty clothes bin and walk to my room. I find my reaping outfit- a cinch collar sweater and tweed-patterned pencil skirt with black leggings- where I left it, strewn on the edge of the bed.

In the next fifteen minutes, I dress, style my hair, and slide on my boots and silvery grey microchip bracelet, before standing in front of the mirror and giving myself a once over. Pleased with the outcome, I grab my coat and make to leave, opening my door to find my father standing there, arm raised and hand poised and positioned to knock.

He lowers it and backs away so that I can exit. "Ready to go, sweetie? Want a quick snack?"

"As ready as I'll ever be and no, I'm not hungry," I reply. We make our way down stairs and head out. I wait on the walkway for the him to lock up the door. Once he's done, we get into his car.

We live in the small suburban area on the edge of the district that mainly the wealthy of District Three reside. Our house is just four down from the entrance of the Victors Village, which sits on small hill. My father goes there frequently, usually on business, to visit the Victor Beetee.

Every once in a while when I was younger, he would allow me to come along, where Beetee would allow me to play with his non-lethal devices or would even create toys that he'd let me keep to take with me and bide the time while, I assume, he and my father ran over different types of technology and designs for the Games.

Outside my window, the scenery changes from lavish houses with beautiful green lawns to the cold uniform gray of the district's factories, only a few in full operation.

On the sidewalks are people walking towards the town square, either dressed in their best attire or in the clothes from their graveyard shift. A few look up to watch us pass before losing interest and continuing forward.

"Have you heard anything at all from mom?," I ask looking out of the window.

"No I haven't. The last I spoke to her was around eleven last night," he answers. "She said she'd probably be be in about two in the morning."

He continues on after seeing my expression. "You know how she gets, always losing track of time and getting caught up in her work, not at all unusual."

I nod in reply and begin to worry my lip, letting the conversation drop from there. She usually calls or makes sure leaves a voice message if she gets the machine.

We pull into a parking deck about a block away from the square. Outside, my father veers off towards the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?," I ask confused.

"Just to check in on your mother and see if she's wrapped everything up at the office." He gives a half smile, saying, "I'll be back before you know it." And with that he's on his way, leaving me alone.

I continue onward, hands in pockets, thankful that I decided to grab my coat. While the cool breeze was tolerable standing outside my house, the wind was unforgiving in the district center, wrapping around the buildings' walls and blowing, full force, from different angles.

The town square comes into view, large colorful banisters and streamers hung up on the sides of buildings and balloons tied to the street lamps around, all of which flap haphazardly in the wind. In front of the steps to the Justice Building is a stage, with chairs off to the side for the past Victors, the mayor, and his family.

On stage, District Three's new escort, Elatia Bornia, seems to switch between an intense conversation with the mayor's wife and giving a brilliant small towards the cameras and crowd that has gathered.

I make my way as quickly as I can to join the census line. Several eyes follow me as I go, filled with either disdain or pity. My father's former status has made my family sort of pariahs, everyone else keeping their distance.

I keep my head up and forward, not looking at anything specific. Sooner than expected I've arrived at the desk.

"Hand please." I give the peacekeeper my hand and he jabs my index finger with a needle, pressing it to a piece of paper. "You can go now."

I walk to the fifteen year old section, lingering near the edge. I already know whose name will be called. The reaping soon begins with the same old boring video of the rebellion of the dark days, its ending, and the ushering of the Annual Games.

I zone out, instead try to spot my parents in the surrounding crowd. There's no sight of them from where I'm standing and I try not to let that get to me.

Elatia's perky voice finally breaks through, having my attention focused back on the stage.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Her accent, like my father's, seems fairly light compared to others from the Capitol. "May the odds be ever in your favor!"

The most of the crowd claps politely, only a few are completely motionless. She smiles a little, pleased with the response.

"Before we begin, let's give it up for District Three's Victors!"

More applause erupts, slightly louder. On stage, Beetee waves, Wiress looks far away somewhere else, and Lilah simply nods.

"Alright! Shall we begin?!" She makes her way to the girls ball first. The square is dead silent but for the whipping wind. Grabbing the handle, she winds it and the ball rotates.

By now the suspense is killing me, leaving my guts in knots. She stops the ball and sticks her hand inside, taking a slip of paper. She glances at it before raising the microphone to her lips.

"And the female tribute of District Three is..." she pauses for dramatic effect. "Alana Wen!"

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**HG94**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the next chapter. To those who are there, Read and Review. It encourages me to keep going. =B**

**As usual, I do not own or claim to own anything Hunger Games related- I'm simply borrowing from Ms. Collins. No suing please. I'm broke :)**

**Chapter Two**

_By now the suspense is killing me, leaving my guts in knots. She stops the ball and sticks her hand inside, taking a slip of paper. She glances at it before raising the microphone to her lips._

_ "And the female tribute of District Three is..." she pauses for dramatic effect. "Alana Wen!"_

While the outcome isn't really that shocking, hearing Elatia's voice calling out my name makes this official, makes it real. I'm going into the Games. The girls beside me have varying reactions, some smiling wearily, happy that they've been spared this time around while others look around to try and see who reacts to the name called.

All eyes land on me as I step out of the group and, without waiting for the procession of peacekeepers, walk up to the stage, head held up high. I climb the stairs and take my place beside Elatia. She wraps a violet-shaded arm around my shoulders briefly before heading to the boys reaping ball.

I look out in the crowd as she spins it, trying to locate my parents. I don't have any luck, only meeting the pitying gaze of an random stranger.

_They should be here by now,_ I think to myself, irritated. Why aren't they here? Father said that it'd take him no time to find mom.

"And the male tribute is... Gloxen Tribune!" brings me back to the immediate situation. Stepping from the the thirteen year old section, a thin pale boy in dress clothes a size to big makes his way out, his curly blond hair blowing into his face.

Out in the crowd a woman- I assume his mom- cries out, trying to run to him. She's promptly caught and held off by peacekeepers, forced to watch helplessly as he mounts the stage.

"Well let's give it up for the 74th Hunger Games District Three tributes, Alana Wen and Gloxen Tribune!" The crowd claps briefly. Elatia turns to us.

"Go on, shake each others hands."

Gloxen and I face each other and extend hands. His- or mine, I can't tell- palm is sweaty and is shivering slightly. I catch a glimpse of his eyes, brown and glossed over with freely running tears before I let go and turn away.

We're both ushered into the Justice Building, past the well decorated lobby filled with camera technician's monitoring screens of the stage and the important officials of Three then, put into separate rooms across from one another. It hasn't changed much from the last time I was here. Once the door closes behind me, I begin to pace back and forth, my feet sinking into the plush carpet.

They didn't show, my parents. How could they not, knowing how good of a chance it was of me being reaped. Even now, when they should be rushing in to console me, to at least say their final goodbyes, they're no where to be found.

Anger and hurt rage on in me, making it hard for me to keep the tears at bay. I blink repeatedly to stop them from falling. It doesn't help to think that I am in the same room Chloe was last year.

I flop down onto the love seat, brushing away the few strands of hair that come flying on my face, and begin to take deep breaths to calm myself. What's done is done. I can't afford tears now, especially with the cameras that are sure to be at the train station. I can't afford to look weak.

When I feel I'm more under control of my emotions I stand again and glance out the window. Most of my view is obscured by a neon green banner, but from what I can see most of the crowd has already slunk away, just a few taking their time to go on with their business.

Tinkering behind me has me turning to see the door opening. My mouth starts running before I can help it.

"Well it's about goddamn time you showed up! What took you two so-" The door opens quickly and a peacekeeper comes rushing in, shutting the door behind him then rushes towards me. I'm reacting purely on reflex, dodging to the side before kicking at my assaulter s side.

A voice in the back of mind tells me that I should be yelling out for assistance, but I don't. The peacekeeper recovers, moving in once again while deflecting my punches. He reaches a hand to grab at me, but I jerk away and reach forward, slapping him across the face.

Not a smart move on my part; he's wearing a protective glass covering. If anything, it only hurts me and makes him angry. He tackles me to the floor, settling his weight down on my legs and pins my hands above my head with one hand. I'm defenseless, subjected to whatever it is that he'll try to do.

I'd think being chosen tribute would keep me relatively safe until I reached the arena, but I guess that I was wrong. After all, Snow could always reap another girl from the district and say that I was eliminated for trying to escape or something similar. I wouldn't put it past him.

The peacekeeper reaches with his free hand to his side. The only thing visible to me from there are the handle to a knife... and a pistol. I know struggling is useless, so I do the only thing I can; I scream.

He jams his fist over my mouth with unnecessary force, then hisses, "Shut the hell up, Alana!"

I stop, not because he asked, but because of his voice... He sounded just like... He lifts the cover up to reveal the face of my best friend's brother.

"Buzz?!" It's the only thing I can say, can think of. He's stares back at me for a moment, eyes devoid of any emotion, then releases me and stands up. I slowly rise, confused and wary of him. Why was he here now, after avoiding me for so long. We were never close, never even friends, our only form of connection being Chloe. Then there was the questions of why he was dressed up as a peacekeeper and why'd he attacked me in the first place.

I open my mouth to ask him all of this, but he speaks quickly, cutting me off.

"Your father sent me here to tell you he couldn't come and to give you this." He reached down into his pocket and pulls out a letter, which he then carelessly tosses to me. "It explains everything." I lean forward, barely catching it, then look up to see him half way to the door.

"So that's it? You have nothing to say to me," I ask.

"What exactly is there to say?"

"How about you why you choose now to make a appearance. Or how you decided to attack me instead of just handing me the letter like a normal person."

His face goes from blank to furious in the span of a second, taking me by surprise.

"I don't owe you a damn thing, not an explanation or anything for that matter," he snarls coldly. "And you should be glad that all I did was tackle you. It could have been much worse."

There's a brief pause as I wait for him to calm down before responding.

"What did I ever do to you?"

A cruel half smile appears on his face as he answers, making my blood run cold.

"You killed my sister." And with that he's gone, the door is slammed and I'm left all alone.

-o.0.O.0.o-

I'm left to wait for the last twenty minutes of visitation alone. I just sit their, switching between confusion, fear and hurt. Confusion as to why my father and mother decided to leave me an note instead of seeing me off.

The fear is for the obvious, the Games, but also for the letter. I haven't opened it because I'm sure it contains something I won't like, something horrible. I don't need that at the moment; I'm already at the edge and it won't take much to send me off. For the cameras I must be strong.

Hurt. That's the worse of the three, much worse. Buzz made sure to let me know his opinion concerning Chloe, only confirming what I believe myself; I killed my best friend. Because of me she's gone and I did nothing to stop it.

When she volunteered last year I did nothing, still frozen from hearing my name being called and made more stiff as I watched her mount the stage, bright blue eyes determined and long ebony locks pulled back with the black and red friendship scrunchie I'd given to her two years before.

I didn't protest or shout. I did nothing but look on as she went on in my place, even let her reassure me when I visited her in the Justice Building, tears running down my face. I was safe at home as I watched her wave cheerfully at the cameras during the chariot parade in nothing but coils of lights, as she manage to surprise the Capitol with her training score of 8, as she flirted with the crowd and told of her fear of losing me, causing her to volunteer during her interview.

And I watched as she struggled through the arena, partnering with the boys from 5 and 6 and girl from 8, as she fought for her life from the the career pack with nothing but a thin sword, from the eagle-wolf mutts who tore two of her partners to pieces right before her.

I looked on as she made it from the final six, to the final four, to the final two, coming so close to being back home only to be choked to death by the boy from 1. And here I was, alive and well watching what should have happened to me.

I don't blame Buzz for feeling the way he does. He's right; he could have done a lot worse. After all, I deserved it.

The peacekeepers come in to retrieve me. Once Gloxen is out of his room, we're both lead into a car, along with Elatia, then driven to the train station. The ride is less than five minutes, but I try to imagine it is longer, glancing out my window to drink in every last detail of District Three.

We're there too soon. Before stepping out I turn to Gloxen and grab a hold of his hand. He stares at me for a moment before looking down. He doesn't take his hand away though. Together we step out onto the platform, allowing the paparazzi to get photos. I place a fake bright smile on my face and glance at a nearby screen. It looks genuine, for which I'm glad. Gloxen is giving a sad half smile that's both heartbreaking and adorable all at once. Eventually Elatia pulls us forward toward the train doors.

The doors shut behind us, cutting off the thousands of questions of 'how excited are you for the Games' and 'are you really the daughter of **the** Nimmo Redpath' and the flashing lights from the cameras. I let go of Gloxen's hand reluctantly before turning to Elatia.

"Thank the heavens that that is over. Such a dreadful event it is." I'm just left staring at her in shock. I've never exactly met a escort before, but I doubt that this something of the ordinary.

"Hmm. Surprised, are you? Just because I have gotten this job doesn't mean I'm happy to do it. Anyway dearies, let's get you to your rooms." She walks off into a nearby door. I glance to Gloxen, who looks confused before following after her.

After we've caught up, she points to two rooms across from one another.

"Here you are. You van freshen up or rest for a bit before lunch. But I don't suggest taking a nap. We're only five hours away the Capitol." She heads past us back to the room we just left, but pats our shoulders before continuing. "Meet back in the dining area for lunch on thirty."

We nod and she's off. I open the door to my room to see a beautifully decorated room. There's lavender everywhere, blended into several shades of purple and black. I walk over to the king sized bed and sit on it's edge. The material is soft and fluffy between my fingers. As I shift slightly to watch the surroundings pass by through the window, I feel paper crumple in my jacket pocket. The letter.

I'd completely forgotten about it. Sighing to myself, I pull it out and begin to unfold it. Once that's done, I begin to read.

_To my little girl,_

_Alana, I am so sorry for leaving you like I did but you must know that it was for you and your safety. There's no easy way for me to say this but I must. Jacqueline... your mother... they got to her. She's gone. It had to have happened sometime last night, because... the blood. It had dried and there was so much. She was so cold. So cold_

_Snow has lost interest in me. I'm wanted sweetie. I can't stay here in Three or he'll send them again. By the time you read this, I'll be long gone, Hopefully you are reading this, but just to be safe I haven't disclosed where I'll be._

_As ironic as it sounds, your being in the Games is your protection. As long as your in the public eye, your safe. In the arena, they're likely to give you hell, so during the interview and training, do your best to win over the crowd. If you're a fan favorite, they'll have to keep you around._

_I know you're probably scared and confused, probably even angry, but sweetie, if you know anything know that I love you. _

_Dad_

_P.S. Destroy this letter as soon you've read it._

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**HG94**


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